Residual
by Monochrome Insanity
Summary: A Good Man Goes to War spoilers. Melody's been returned, but how are the occupants of the TARDIS coping? Rory/Amy and Eleven/River.
1. Chapter 1: Amy & Rory

Disclaimer: I don't own this - even I could come up with a better name than "Let's Kill Hitler."

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><p><strong>Residual [ri-zij-oo-uhl]<strong>

_-adjective_

pertaining to or constituting a residue or remainder; leftover.

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><p><strong>Chapter One – Rory &amp; Amy<strong>

Amy leaned wearily against the brightly colored doorway of the nursery as Melody dozed off in her arms. Neither could be blamed for their exhaustion, for the amount of work done to simply reunite a mother and her daughter was ludicrous. Of course, it hadn't actually been simple, not in the least. Then again, nothing ever was when you were travelling through time and space in a police box with a mad man. But she was back now - with an entire family that had suddenly been built around her.

The baby in her arms curled closer to her mother's bosom, her soft facial features scrunched up in a knotty expression with her eyes squeezed tightly shut before she slowly lifted her lids. She was so young and old at the same time, considering all of the trauma that small infant had lived through in her short time spent alive. Even through everything that the child and the ones searching for her had withstood, though, Melody still looked up at her mother with tired blue eyes that shone with innocence despite her suffering.

Amy met those eyes with exhaustion and worry, two emotions she had become very well acquainted with recently. Her baby, while now oblivious, would live through such terrible things, such ridiculous, painful hardships, and she couldn't help but feel as though she was the one subjecting her own daughter to her future afflictions. Melody Pond would never be raised normally, would never taste the bittersweet tang of human childhood, would never know a life outside of the supernatural, outside of abnormal, outside of constant running.

Running and running and running, something the baby had known well since the day it was born.

Melody would never look back on her childhood memories with fondness, would never remember a time without danger, could never live any way besides that of the Doctor's companions. So Amy, standing there with her weary shoulder pressed against a contrastingly bright-colored wall in a nursery, choked back a sob as a cold, wet tear drew a line of mascara down her cheek - though her make-up was already ruined past recognition. She cried for every sorrow she had kept trapped inside for the past couple weeks she had spent fighting for her life alongside those she loved _for_ the one she loved - but mostly she cried for all the pain her daughter would face, all the pain to happen that the poor baby in her arms knew nothing about, all the tears that would hide behind Melody's wall of strength as she grew.

As she grew into River Song, the impressively courageous woman that Amy never, ever wanted her child to become. She didn't want her daughter to see the things River had, but mostly, she didn't want to imagine the things that woman had done – that _Melody_ had done. River was by no means a good role model, let alone a good future self for the infant that now stared at her sobbing mother in confusion.

Amy slid down the doorframe, her lithe body touching the floor as she struggled to hold her baby while clutching her head in her hands. She didn't want her daughter to see her cry, see her so weak, but she had never felt such helplessness. Even when they searched for Melody when she had been taken, it had been less distressing; River's existence had served as a reassurance not a painful reminder of the baby's life to come. Now the new mother couldn't help but curl up in desperate misery. She had been through so much, so many life-or-death situations, but never had the kiss-o-gram from Leadworth been forced into such responsibility for another human being. The pressure to keep her child safe and the wave of depression that surged through her when she realized she had already failed were powerful blows to her strong front, and Amy Pond's defenses were wiped clean.

"Amy?"

She turned away in a useless attempt to wipe her tears on the shoulder of her shirt before looking up at her husband. Rory was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, having just changed out of the Roman garb he had worn for so long during the focused hunt for the ones who had stolen his daughter. Only when Amy met his eyes did she realize that she wasn't the only one suffering an excruciating mental blow. His eyes looked down in sleep-deprived melancholy as he shared a moment with his wife – both of them trying their utmost best to remain afloat in a sea of pain.

"Rory." Her usually confident Scottish voice cracked.

Amy watched his face fall a millimeter (for how much more _could _it fall?) as he observed his spouse's misery. For all he had done for her - waiting 2000 years, dying so many times, crossing time and space to remain alongside her - she had been the emotionally untouchable one. Now that he found her on the floor grasped her only child and weeping, something inside him wanted to curl up beside her and embrace their sadness.

Seeing her break down was terrible, but something was shared between their eyes aside from their joined despair – seeing each other awoke their love and reminded both of them of why they had suffered through everything the world could possibly through at them for the past few weeks. The girl between them, who was truly the purest connection between the married couple, un-scrunched her tightly-knit face for only a second to smile innocently up at the two who had both simultaneously glanced down at their daughter.

In such a simple action, Melody had reminded both of them that, while who knows what pain the baby would face in the future, right now she was alive and needed her parents – whole and strong enough to handle a child.

Amy looked up, her sobs slowing as she felt a rush of shame at her unsightly reaction. "Uh…?" she asked as politely as possible while gesturing to the infant in her arms and holding her a little farther from her body.

Rory smiled lovingly at his two girls that lay in front of him before reaching for the baby. Once her arms were relieved, Amy made haste to wipe her face free of tears and smeared make-up in a quick attempt to make amends for her break down. Her husband stepped carefully over Amy's legs and into the nursery's threshold, carrying his precious cargo with grace before setting the baby gently into the ratty old blue crib. The Doctor insisted it should only be temporary, but both members of the couple felt a great attachment to the Time Lord's old memorabilia as though it were of unimaginable importance. The ancient wood creaked as the weight of the baby pushed on its legs.

The centurion in jeans then walked over to his wife in short, sensitive steps. He favored his left legs a little as he tried to make his limp seem as unnoticeable as possible; Amy made no comment, allowing him to pretend that nothing hurt him for her sake. He sat down beside her, his back touching the green wall in the room (Each wall was a different color, each equally neon – green, blue, yellow, red. The ceiling sported a brilliant purple.) while Amy leaned against the orange door frame before realizing this and scooting inside the room, pushing her husband aside as she did so. He laughed it off and kissed the corners of her eyes to dry her remaining tears with affection. She pushed his arms off her kiddingly, and, if only for a second, nothing seemed abnormal. Well, aside from the usual saving-the-world-in-a-time-travelling-box abnormal.

But nothing was normal, not even by their standards, and no matter how much they longed to stay in their blissful state, they both knew they couldn't. It was Amy who broke the peaceful silence. "We," she paused as if trying to find the right words, something she never seemed to worry about before, "have a lot to talk about, don't we?"

Rory nodded, an action only barely seen by Amy in her peripheral vision. As if to sum up the outrageous situation, he said incredulously, "_River_ is our _daughter_."

Amy couldn't help but laugh at his wonder - and her own. It seemed so unbelievable, and even after all the time they'd spent knowing this and all the facts that had been tossed about that proved it, the fact that River Song was their part-Time Lord part-human child was a really hard concept to grasp. It was astounding neither of them had suffered from a mental break down - excepting the one that just took place due to a combination of relief and agony.

"_Melody_ is our daughter," corrected Amy in a dignified voice that was ruined a little by her runny nose, "and River is Melody."

Rory sat for a moment in the silence, pondering their child's meaning, future, and every single moment of her life that lay between now and then. "Hmm," he said finally in that tone that meant he had no idea what the difference that Amy tried to point out was. She snorted a little bit, and he changed the subject, though only slightly - "Do you think we raise her?"

It was a question that both had been trying to avoid but needed to be addressed. As Amy and Rory got lost in thought fretting over their possible paternal future, the only sound to accompany them was a soft cooing of their child, a sound that was both reassuring and eerily foreshadowing. What if they didn't raise her?

They found it hard to get even the smallest detail - if any at all - clearly stated by River. She always insisted that whatever way she was raised, time could be rewritten enough for everything to work out alright. Really, though, that wasn't in the least reassuring to the young couple - they didn't want hope for something better, they wanted to be told that they would be able to hold their child for as long as they needed to and for as long as she needed to be held. Amy and Rory simply wanted the threat away from their daughter, not a vague, paradoxical suggestion to change time.

A year. They had already missed a whole year of their little girl's life and didn't want to miss a second more, whether it was the tiniest moment or a memorable time such as her first words. Maybe it was their relief and surging affection thinking for them, but they needed to know that they could be, if only a little bit, a normal family. Considered all the mystery surrounding her future – the astronaut suit, the jail sentence – who knew how much time they'd spend together, let alone whether or not it would be in any sort of normal environment.

The Doctor had done his best, rushed off into an unknown battle at the slightest glimmer of hope, but he hadn't been able to return the child to the newlyweds' arms without assistance from his companions - and it wasn't until a year after her birth, only a little less than a month in their time. He felt endlessly guilty for his tiniest mistakes made when their daughter's life had been on the line, and the emotionally weary couple couldn't help but blame him, if only slightly - especially Amy. She wanted to ignore the fact that she blamed herself for her daughter's disappearance just as much as the Doctor.

So the words that Rory had spoken with great hesitation floated in the air along with their doubts and insecurities as both of them realized it didn't need to be answered, nor could it be.

"What do we do now?" asked Rory tentatively, knowing there was no proper response. He stared pleadingly at his wife who looked back at his eyes hollowly. And then, completely unforced and natural, her face faded into a warm smile.

"Save the universe, travel time, learn how to care for a baby correctly - you know, the usual."

Rory couldn't help but smile at Amy's casual reply, and he drew her into a comforting hug - both for him and her. They were together and felt completely whole for the first time since the kidnapping of Melody. At least for now, everything was as calm as possible in the TARDIS. A relaxed mood settled over the Doctor's wedded companions.

"So," started Amy with a hint in her voice that Rory instantly recognized as teasing, "no more sex whilst exploring all of time and space in the TARDIS." She turned to him and wiggled her eyebrows, an action that wasn't quite as suggestive with the teardrops still clinging to her eyelashes.

Ignoring the subtle heat that flooded his face, Rory replied as coolly as possible, "Of course. We wouldn't want any more part-Time Lord babies."

"Yes, yes, yes, even though the experience was ever-so-fun the first time around. We must obey the rules!"

"There are rules now?"

"Oooh, the Doctor didn't tell you?" Amy asked with sudden interest, leaning closer to her husband. He shook his head. "Well, he went over an entire new list of rules for 'appropriate spousal behavior and interaction while aboard the TARDIS' with me. Sorry you had to miss it - it was splendid." She rolled her eyes at the last bit, clearly being sarcastic. "I got to sit and listen to him explain - in magnificent detail, I might add - every little thing we could and couldn't do on here. Well, as much as he could while struggling not to blush! It was worth sitting through just to see him squirm."

Rory laughed softly into his hand as he imagined the awkward Doctor, careful to avoid contact with a particularly bad wound on his palm; he would have to address that later, it looked infected. He was happy to see his wife was back to her usual, joking self despite all the pains experienced, so he did his utmost to remain positive to help her relax more.

Amy herself was purposefully acting as usual, teasing and reacting with her normal personality. It was hard, but she worked through it to make her husband feel more comfortable, which she quickly saw was working.

So either member of the couple sat beside each other next to the doorway into a nursery, both joking as though nothing had happened in a deft attempt to comfort the other. It was funny to any onlooker who could've understood what ran through both their minds.

They sweet little moment, though, was quickly shattered.

A cold, precise clacking of high heels that were evidently _not_ the Doctor's broke their comfort. The sound echoed around the empty metal halls of the TARDIS's inner layers, getting louder and louder as proximity increased. Though neither had a reason to be afraid, both Amy and Rory held their breath.

The couple released their breath at the same moment to look up from the loud heeled shoes that had stopped right in front of them. Their daughter stood directly outside the doorway wearing a kind smile.

River Song.

Melody Pond.

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><p><strong>How'd I even write this? I don't even really like AmyRory... ah, whatever, they're cute.**

**Review or favorite or follow or do nothing. DFTBA.**


	2. Chapter 2: Amy & River

**I own nothing. At all. Ever.**

**Enjoy.**

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><p><strong>Chapter Two – Amy &amp; River<strong>

Silence.

"Hello," River said simply, entirely different from her usual greeting that rang with flirtations and self-confidence. Instead, it sounded as though she understand exactly how Amy and Rory - her parents - felt and, she felt it too. Her hand grazed the door frame with hesitance, like she didn't quite feel comfortable just walking in. For once, she was thinking of the repercussions of striding into a potentially awkward scene with her newly awakened parents. Every emotion she felt and every emotion felt by the two adults huddled in front of her resonated through the single word she spoke without her usual "sweetie" added on.

The couple being addressed did nothing but stare for a second, feeling as if they'd been caught in a strangely intimate moment; even if both of them were clothed, they felt naked and vulnerable, leaning on each other completely if only for a short while.

"River." Amy said the name entirely as a statement rather then a question, her bloodshot eyes not even blinking as she studied the woman who stood before them. She'd been determined a multitude of times as, despite her usefulness, not to be trusted. How should their apparent family relation make any difference?

The woman in front of them, supposedly their daughter - after all that had happened, they couldn't argue the fact at all - raised an eyebrow in response, not cruelly or apathetically but with patience as she waited for her parents to say what they needed to. It was strange for Amy and Rory to look at River and, instead of thinking of her as a mystery or someone intimately close to the Doctor, seeing her as their daughter. She appeared so much older than the both of them and was probably even older than that considering she was part Time Lord, yet they were her parents.

She was Melody.

Melody, that gentle, soft, vulnerable yet tough baby who lay only a few feet away in a swaying crib, babbling away in nonsense gibberish. It couldn't connect in their minds that their new child would grow up to become River Song, the brave, gun-slinging woman that popped in and out of their lives.

"Happy to have her back?" River had walked across the room, careful not to trip over to hit either Amy or Rory's legs as she made her way to the crib. Unlike usual, she seemed to be purposefully acting polite, her head lowered like a dog asking for permission to join a pack. It was as if she understood her parents' difficulties in accepting her. Now standing beside the cot, she reached in slowly, glancing at Amy and Rory for a second, and brushed the baby's face - her _own_ face.

"Isn't there some universal law against you doing that?" Amy said, turning her attention completely away from her husband and onto her daughter,her arms crossed across her chest. "Screw up your timeline or some such thing?" She had been less than courteous toward River upon hearing the news, amplified by all the emotions going through her.

"There shouldn't be any effects," River nearly mumbled as she stared at the baby's face. "The TARDIS can stabilize us, and only a complete Time Lord meeting himself would really cause disaster." She paused, seeming entranced by the face of a younger her - a _different_ her, considering regeneration.

Amy turned away fiercely, her head held high on her stretching neck. A soft _hmmph_ left her throat as she attempted to remain indignant looking despite her torn and tattered clothes, the bruises covering ever other inch of her visible skin, and the tear marks that, though blurred, stayed noticeably on her cheeks. Clearly, she was in no state to accept River or anything she had to say.

River, moving away from the cradle as her fingers gently traced the rim,smiled sadly at her relunctant mother, though only Rory saw her small movement. Her eyebrows knit in concern as she glanced back at the baby and began to speak slowly. "Rory," she started, her normally confident voice sounding both nervous and compassionate, a tone so foreign to River that it instantly caught both her parents' attention, "could you leave me alone with Amy for a second?" She figured it was best to refer to her simply as "Amy," not a mother or a wife but a person, a person who greatly needed reassurance right now.

Anxiety flashed over Rory's facial features, revealing a great hesitation to leave the two women alone, but the almost pleading look that filled River's face must have convinced him, for, after a moment of nervous glances and held breaths, he adjusted himself and started to pull his body up with the support of the doorway and wall.

Immediately, Amy reached up for the dangling material of his shirt, scooting over on the floor closer to him. Her eyes begged to her husband for a minute, for once decidedly not fierce or independent - just needing, needing of help, of compassion, of everything that everyone needs at some point in their life. "No," she mumbled softly, breaking contact with his gaze as her eyes flickered to the ground. His resolve weakened, and he started to sit back down beside her, his arms instinctively moving to engulf her.

"Rory." It wasn't any sort of question, just a statement. River lost all the weakness and pity in her voice when she spoke, the one word saying to him - no, _ordering_ him to realize everything that he already knew, that he ought to leave his wife right now. He had never abandoned her before, but this time it was merely an act of kindness to do so. She needed to talk to River. To Melody. To her daughter.

So he stood back up and struggled not to look at Amy as he left, even as she grabbed at his shirt again. Gently, he closed the door behind him, careful not to hit Amy while doing so.

The instant the door closed with a defined click, Amy whirled around, changed her pleading gaze at her retreating husband to a stern scowl at her daughter. "What?" she practically spat, her Scottish accent ringing clearly and angrily.

"Amy," River said calmly, her eyes drilling into her all-too-young mother with an age defying seriousness, "I don't expect you to underst - "

"No, don't say that. _I_'m not the one not understanding things here."

"Of course," River agreed, here voice edged with sadness. Her facial expression was kind as looked upon Amy like a mother would to her daughter - only it was the opposite. She was older, yes, but Amy was her mother, and River couldn't help but try to comfort her as much as possible, allowing her to say what she needed to say.

And somewhere deep inside herself, Amy understood, too. Unfortunately, she wasn't about to admit any sort of misjudgment she may have made. "You're Melody. All this time, Rory and I, we've been your parents." As the words left her lips, she stood up slightly dizzily with assistance of the wall. River didn't answer; she didn't have to. "Just tell me. Tell me what's happened to you - what _will_ happen to Melody. I want to know," Amy said, not a lick of her earlier sadness present, just unfaltering strength.

River smiled fondly at the woman who gave birth to her as if she understood what she was feeling. "I'm not going to tell you some shit about you _think_ you want to know, but you don't really want to," she said, not meeting Amy's eyes, "but you must understand that the baby right over there," she gestured to the cot, "her life is open to change. What happened to me might not happen to her. If you've learned one thing, you must know that time can be rewritten - sometimes far easier than we would like to think."

Amy seemed to puzzle over this for a second, her back leaning against a neon wall and her eyes fixed on a spot on the floor. "Was your childhood really _that_ bad?" she asked nearly ironically, a smile almost visible on her lips.

"You know I can't say much," River said with a gentle shake of her head.

"Spoilers?" Amy asked, her joking voice edged with an underlying anger that bled through, causing her voice to crack. Her face was anger and sadness and contentedness all mixed together and set to boil.

River nodded subtly, looked back for a second at Melody, and took a tentative step toward Amy, her arms held up a little bit from her sides in an experimental offer for some sort of hug. Amy reluctantly viewed the woman in front of her, thinking of how hard it was to believe that she was the baby that she had held in her arms just minutes before. Hesitantly, she stepped forward with only one foot in acceptance as she felt arms wrap around her.

It was an awkward hug but comforting nonetheless. They stood there for a moment, neither moving at all, simply standing there, depending on each other if only for a second.

"Can I go find Rory?" Amy mumbled into River's shoulder, realizing that it was ridiculous to be asking her daughter for permission. Without an answer, she started to remove herself from the hug as River graciously did the same. She turned away from her, both to open the door and to mask the emotions that played obviously across her face like an enormous movie screen. Making sure that she had nothing more to say, nothing more to sort out before seeking comfort, she turned the knob with conviction, though she pushed the door open gently.

River looked at her young mother - far too young for all she had experienced - and pondered over how strong and independent she could be, how unbelievably reckless and enduring, yet there she was - confused, lost, and just wanting to find her husband to sort out everything she felt and ought to feel. She didn't respond (she didn't need to give her mother consent), just followed her slowly out of the room.

They were possibly the strangest mother-daughter pair that history had seen, but for now, they had each other whether they liked it or not.

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><p><strong>No reviews? If I suck, please at least tell me!<strong>

**Sorry for any typos! I'm losing all my concentration to write, hence why this chapter is shortish... ****Bye!**


	3. Chapter 3: Rory & The Doctor

**[insert disclaimer here]**

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><p><strong>Chapter Three – Rory &amp; The Doctor<strong>

Rory wandered a bit aimlessly around the TARDIS for a while, having left his wife and daughter's company. He'd felt a bit awkward, but in the end, odds were leaving Amy alone lead to better results - hopefully. Who knew how she might act with River alone now that she knew the truth? He smiled to himself as he recalled his wife's fierce personality.

His wanderings brought him, as most paths travelled through the TARDIS do, to the main control room. He stood between a hallway's entrance and the main room, looking around for anyone who might be there - as if there could be anyone besides the four people currently residing inside the TARDIS. On first glance it seemed empty, and he was just about leave on a course for the kitchen for some tea when a heart-stopping crash resounded off the walls, shaking his ear drums and lighting the walls up with sparks. A cry that sounded an awful lot like "Aafft!" followed the small explosion.

Tentatively, Rory strode into the center of the room with careful steps, his feet landing softly. He crept out onto the glass floor, staring with careful intensity even though he already knew what to expect.

Below him, the Doctor sat on his swing (which was currently swaying back and forth from the tremorous blast) surrounded by a strewn collection of tiny metal bits and pieces that he looked at with horror. He sighed and pushed off the floor with his feet, swinging himself closer to some debris that looked like it was glowing. He wore his tattered shirt and pants that probably hadn't been washed in a good long time, seeing as he hadn't bothered to change when they got back - he immediately scurried to tinker with TARDIS, the results of which were blatantly obvious. He looked exactly like what one would imagine a "raggedy doctor" would look like.

"Hello...?" Rory asked slowly, making his way toward the stairwell and leaning over a little bit. He was hesitant, not entirely sure he should be approaching the Time Lord.

The Doctor looked up in surprise since he hadn't heard the man walk in due to the noise. He hustled to remove the goggles that he wore, and once they were gone, they revealed deep imprints of circles left around his eyes, bordered with smeared dust. His eyes were underlined with bags, and ash streaked his pale face. "Oh," he said, propelling himself closer to the stairwell exactly like a little kid would. "How are you, Rory the Roman?"

"I took the outfit off," Rory replied weakly.

"You should've kept it on, looked very cool."

"Doctor," he said, just the slightest bit sternly in order to get his attention.

The smile left the Doctor's face and suddenly he looked 900 years old, weary and tired and entirely ready to die. For all the new parents had gone through for the past few weeks, the Doctor had worked just as hard, pushing himself as far as possible in order to protect his best friends' child and beating himself up over any tiny mistake.

"What?" His voice which was usually happy - or at the very least irritated or angry or confused but never so hollow - seemed to echo weakly around the room.

"I just," Rory started, cursing the slight stutter that accompanied the sight of the Doctor looking so defeated even after a victory, "you know. We - it's - thank you."

The Doctor reacted not with thanks but shame, casting his gaze down onto his lap, his bouncy bangs brushing against his forehead and pushing a shadow over his expression. "No," he said plainly. "I did nothing to deserve thanks." Rory was startled by how dead the Doctor sounded, wondering what had triggered his sudden mood change. "A year, Rory, a year. Don't act like it doesn't matter, it does. You know how disappointed Pond is - worse even, she seems outrightly upset with me." Despite his obvious emotion, not his voice nor his body shook as he clearly stated his failure.

"You got her back, though, Doctor. No one else could have done that!"

"Rory, even the girl I helped 'save'" - he made the air quotes - "realizes the mistakes I've made."

Rory thought back to the night when everything changed - when the baby was saved, when the baby was stolen, when wars were won and lost, when River Song shed just a little bit of her veil of mystery - and he remembered the words she had said to him, cold and cruel and completely, utterly necessary.

"_This was exactly you. All this. All of it. You make them so afraid. When you first began, all those years ago, sailing off the see the universe, did you ever think you'd become this? The man who can turn an army around at the mention of his name."_

He couldn't help but agree, even without knowing the Doctor before or after the present, that he wasn't exactly the definition of a good man, especially not on that day. He bit his tongue, though, swallowing away any anger he held toward the Doctor - now was not the time to kick a man when he was down.

"Do you know how many people died that day? Don't you dare tell me that a single one of those lives lost wasn't my fault."

Rory closed his mouth that had been opened, ready to object to the Doctor's self-hate; he just stared from his position leaning on the stairs' railing as the Gallifreyan swung again on his swing and pulling his goggles back on. He seemed to want the conversation over, but Rory wasn't giving up until he had finished what he had to say to the Doctor.

"So – what?" he said, calm as possible as he attempted to reason with the man. "Do you think you're some sort of bad guy now?"

"Who ever said I was a good guy?" He didn't bother turning around to face Rory.

"Can you even begin to realize what you've done? You saved out child, and you can't even focus on how fantastic that is." It helped to say it aloud, convinced Rory that what he said was true and that he was happy right now. "We have a child thanks to you."

"And how many people lost theirs in that war? How many other people's children were lost?"

"Wasn't it worth it?"

"It would be, if it were unpreventable, but it wasn't; no one needed to die. No one needed to enter this war."

"Doctor-"

"That child was only put in danger in the first place in order to kill me! How can you _not_ blame me?" At that, he spun to face Rory, standing up from his seat and pacing intensely toward him. "If I weren't what I am, none of this would have happened. No one would've needed to fight."

"What you are? Doctor, you're spectacular." Rory glared back at the Doctor with all the intensity he could muster as he jumped off the stairs he stood on, conjuring up every memory of the alien's kindness. Their faces were close, but the centurion didn't even blink.

Quietly, he leaned forward an inch and moved his arm as though he wanted to pat the Doctor's shoulder. "You saved our daughter," he whispered softly.

The Doctor lifted his head a bit, for a second ignoring his own shame and instead examined Rory's eyes. His pupils gazed hard with forced determination and emotion, working to convince both of them that Melody was back, and, despite any troubles that might have arisen, it was certainly a good thing. The Doctor's expression softened subtly as he realized that he definitely wasn't helping anyone by acting with such self-hatred, possibly even causing more damage than before. He forced himself to swallow down the words he wanted to shout and alternatively changed his attitude for the sake of the man before him and his wife – and, obviously, Melody.

"Of course I did," he responded, trying his utmost best to not only act as he normally would but also to truly _be_ as he normally was. "You wouldn't expect any less, would you?" He leaned away from Rory, placing his hands on his hips and an assured smile on his face.

Rory grinned, happy for his success in brightening the Doctor's mood and oblivious to the man's own motives in becoming happier. "You did, Doctor," he said reassuringly, reaching forward a bit to comfort the alien with an awkward sort of half-hug. "I'm a dad." He mumbled the last part, no longer looking at the Doctor in front of him and instead staring off into space dazedly. "A dad…" he repeated quietly, dropping his arm off of the Doctor and gazing at the metal aground as though it held all the answers to every wild question he could ask.

The Doctor smiled back, excepting his switched role of having to comfort the new father now. He reached up his arm to grab Rory shoulder firmly and gently all at once. The man's eyes shot up sharply at the surprising action. "You'll make a splendid one," the Doctor said as kindly as he could.

"God, I hope so… it's just… who even knows how much time we'll spend with her? River…"

"Oh yes, you've got your work cut out for you, raising River and all."

Rory smiled at thought, knowing that however hard it was, it was worth it if he and Amy would get to bring her up by themselves in any sort of normal environment. No matter how much "fun" it was to travel around in the TARDIS, he wanted nothing so strange for his daughter even if it was inevitable. And the girl in the space suit….

"Were you ever a father? You never really said so one way or another," Rory asked, partially from curiosity but also to distract his mind.

"Yes," the Doctor, looking off almost a little longingly. "Ages ago, mind you," he added, moving his gaze back to Rory. "I must've been… so young, maybe only 100? Certainly I was a far different man." He sat down on the side of a step like an elderly man, as though just thinking about his youth made him older.

Amused, Rory scoffed quietly into his palm at the man calling 100 years old "young" and sat down beside him. Said by anyone else, and it would've sounded ridiculous and comical, but the Doctor spoke the words entirely seriously as he carefully recalled a time so long ago. No human could even dream of having such a long memory, but the Time Lord could call upon such ancient memories in seconds down to the smallest detail. If he was being vague, it was for a reason.

"So what was it like? Being a father…?" Rory struggled to ask the question, finding the delicate topic difficult to discuss, even with the man who had such a deep, magical connection to Amy and him.

"Trust me," he responded calmingly, not really answering the question, "it's a job that you're absolutely _perfect_ for, Rory." He clapped a gangly hand on the dad's back and straightened his own bowtie before standing up and beginning to ascend the steps that Rory still sat on.

The centurion followed him up the steps quickly, calling after him as the Doctor startled fiddling with the buttons and buzzers and various other frightening-looking knobs, mumbling something about fixing something that screwed up during their rescue mission for Melody. "But Doctor," he said nervously as he stepped onto the glass floor of the TARDIS, "it's not as though she'll be a normal child…"

"Nope, not in the least – you're the father of River Song! Then again, what can you really call 'normal?'"

"Yes, well, actually, about the River thing…"

The Doctor spun around grandly, looking exactly opposite compared to the terribly upset man he had been only minutes ago. "Hmm?"

"Since she's my daughter and all," Rory said trance-like, thinking of how weird it was to call _River Song_ his daughter, "could you stop with the whole flirty thing? It's more than a little disturbing now."

The Doctor nodded and began to turn back around to attend to his machine before pausing and spinning back to face the man. "Speaking of which," he said, walking closer to Rory as the matter were more serious, even if he were still smiling, "there is something I figure I ought to mention, considering it now applies to you." Rory raised an eyebrow in confusion. "You see," he started before putting a hand to a chin and thinking a moment. "Actually, nevermind, it's not a big deal or anything." He shifted his attention back to the TARDIS controls.

"No," the new father said, leaning on the control board and trying to meet the Doctor's eyes, "now I want to know."

"Oh, fine. I just thought you should know that she kissed me."

"She…?" Rory asked startledly, for a second thinking that the Doctor was still talking about the practically ancient issue with Amy and her kiss.

"Your daughter," he answered plainly, pulling a colorful knob dramatically before realizing that was a mistake, cursing lowly, and pushing in back in as well as he could. It squeaked sharply.

Mulling over the information for a second, Rory turned his head to the side and said, sounding dazed and out-of-it, "I hope you mean when she's grown up and not as a baby..."

"Of course I mean grown-up," the Doctor responding, doing his best to fix whatever he had done to the colorful knob. "Well, grown-up to you; I'm 900, no one's really grown-up to me. Why would a baby kiss me? She didn't even like my bowtie." At that, he turned back to Rory and gestured wildly, finally focusing on the conversation for a second. "Speaking of which, I'm a little concerned about how you're raising her – _she didn't like my bowtie!_" He straightened the article of clothing in question self-consciously.

The side of Rory's mouth twitched up good-humoredly. "Yes, I'll make sure to discuss her fashion sense with Amy later."

"Do take a note to," the Doctor said, partially mumbling, "especially considering River still doesn't like the bow tie..." His gaze dropped on the floor slowly as he rubbed his chin in thought.

"Anyway," Rory said, speaking a little above normal volume in order to get the Doctor's attention and waving his hand awkwardly in front of the Gallifreyan's distracted eyes.

The Doctor's head snapped back up in full alert. "Yes?"

"She kissed you?"

He looked confused for a second, as though his incredible mind had already wandered onto entirely more important subjects in the last few moments. "Oh. Oh! Yes, ages ago. Well, no, not really. After the astronaut thing? It doesn't bother you, does it?" Honestly, he needed no one else to have a proper conversation, just himself.

"A bit, yeah. Yeah, it does. She's my daughter, after all," Rory said half-heartedly. He was new to the whole father thing and had no idea how to go about it. Should he be angry? He wasn't sure himself.

"Well, if it helps, it was before any of us knew."

"I know, but it's still strange..." he mumbled. "God, I don't even want to think about half the things she's implied have gone on between you two."

"Oh, she was probably kidding," the Doctor assured him as best he could. "Probably. Well, you know, she's a terrible flirt, wasn't serious. Well, possibly a little."

Rory shot him a warning glare, telling him to shut up. For all the people and planets he'd helped, the Doctor honestly lacked the basic social skills to tell when his babbling wasn't doing any good.

"I just-" started Rory before being cut off by the unnoticed guest who leaned lazily against the entrance Rory had arrived through earlier.

"Ooh, 'terrible flirt.' Don't tell me you were talking about me."

Both pairs of eyes in the room turned to stare at the uninvited new member of their conversation.

"Hello, Sweetie," River directed at the Doctor.

* * *

><p><strong>Warning: <em>Startledly<em> is not an actual word. It is useful nonetheless.**

**Only one chapter left. Probably. It's River and the Doctor, so I'm happy.**

**I don't really have Rory and River interacting at any point or Amy and the Doctor, but I suggest you read Rory and River by SerenBee - as you can imagine, it's about River and Rory after the Melody event and such.**

**Reviews are splendid, and thanks for the ones so far.**


	4. Stupid Author's Note

**God, I suck for this, but I accidentally deleted the last chapter right when I was almost done, and now I'm really want to avoid having to start it again... **

**So, really sorry about this because Author's Notes instead of chapters suck, but I thought I ought to at least give some sort of explanation as to why it's taking so damn long. Anyway, I'll be trying to finish it as soon as possible, but I'm gonna be busy, so UGH.**

**Bye!**


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